


Just to Feel Deathless (I wore your armor)

by CarthageBurning



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Identity Issues, Pseudo-Incest, crying while masturbating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-25
Updated: 2015-11-25
Packaged: 2018-05-03 07:04:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5281376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarthageBurning/pseuds/CarthageBurning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alyane Stone knows that a man took something from Sansa Stark. Sansa Stark wishes he had taken more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just to Feel Deathless (I wore your armor)

 Sometimes, in her dreams, he is whole. “Sandor Clegane, my lady.” He says as he kisses her hand. He wears a white cloak. She always wakes up crying from those dreams. It isn’t right, not any more.  
“Have you ever been kissed, Alyane?” Myranda Royce is braiding her hair. Alyane smiles and blushes, turning around to look at Myranda. “Once.” She admits, running a hand over the ring Harry had sent her. It’s beautiful, delicate. Maybe Sandor would have given her a ring. Maybe it wouldn’t have been delicate. Maybe things could have been different, in a different world where men weren’t monsters. Myranda squeals, turns pink. Her hands tighten in her hair and Alyane winces, scrunches her nose. “Really? Who was it with? Tell me, please Alyane!” The girl pauses, placing a hand on her ample bosom melodramatically. “Alas, these lips of mine have gone unkissed, so I must rely on the romantic stories of my best friend to warm my heart on these cold autumn nights. Speak, my dear, was it like a song?”  
The Hound, she wants to say. The Hound, the Hound, the Hound. He killed Arya Stark’s friend, the butcher’s boy. He took a kiss and a song from Sansa Stark and his hands were so big on her hips. She found his blood under her nails for days. Alyane touches her lips.  
“The kennel master’s son.” She says, smiling. “Back at the Fingers. He showed me a litter of puppies and he kissed me.” Myranda covers her mouth with a hand and bounces on the soles of her feet. “You couldn’t ask for loyaler dogs than those.”  
*  
The Blackwater is on fire, and Cersei’s hands are against Sansa Stark’s face, wine on her breath. Her lip has split open again. She wants Ser Ilyn to kill them before they are raped. She wants Ser Ilyn to kill Sansa Stark before Stannis comes to her. Sansa Stark thinks death might be pleasant. The Blackwater is burning, men are dying.  
Then, Petyr’s hand is on Alyane’s waist. “Dearest daughter, Harry is ever so interested in meeting you.” She blinks, stares at the tapestry on the wall of her bedroom, of the Eyrie and all it’s glory. Knights and castles and battles, things for little boys and girls who have not seen war. Maybe one day, when she is lady of the Vale, her and Harry could weave a new tapestry. She cannot think of anything more ugly. This place is not her home. Her home is... Her home is... Sansa Stark had brothers and a father and a sister and a mother who loved her. Alyane has only her father, and he loves her in a way that is wrong. You would love me better if I were Catelyn’s corpse, she thinks. But she is already a dead woman, Sansa Stark claws at her heart. Alyane crosses her legs. Sansa Stark was a foolish little girl, with Southron songs in her heart. Alyane is hard, like ice, immovable. She will not cry, even if her father decides he wants to fuck her after all. “I hope you’ll be pleasing to him.”  
“Of course father,” His hand slips to her thigh. “Very good, sweetling.” If the Hound were here, she thinks, he would cut you limb from limb. If the hound were here she’d be a woman bedded and wedded. “Someday this will be all yours, and mine, and all your childrens’. They’ll be little birds, won’t they?” Alyane Stone says, “They'll sing the sweetest songs you ever did hear, father.” She kisses his cheek, trails a hand down his jaw. He smiles like a knife, and Sansa Stark shivers.  
That night after the servants have stoked the fire and blown out all the candles, her hands slip under her covers. The world is burning, and Sandor Clegane takes a song and a kiss from a terrified girl. His voice is like steel and his hands slip under her skirts to her thighs. She brings herself to the cusp, and finds that she is crying. Dogs and wolves both have pups, she thinks. If I have girls, I’ll teach them to have sharp teeth. They won’t be eaten up by this world. Not like me.

*  
“They say the Grave Digger’s coming to the Vale.” Mya Stone tells her this while she gives Alyane a bolt of silk and needles. Myrish silk with a pattern of roses and doves. Ugly, girlish things. Things children wear before they bleed, before the world tears them apart. Alyane hasn't sewn since she left Winterfell, but she was never at Winterfell, she was at the Fingers, she was at the Fingers. “Why? We already have a man who takes the dead. It’s not like we have a surplus of Corpses here.” They never found Lysa’s body. She was her blood.  
“Not that kind of grave digger. The Grave Digger. They say he buries them all, Lions and Stags and the lot.” Mya sits down on Alyane’s bed, looking out of place in her dingy furs and tangled hair. Alyane loves her fiercely. “They say he’s powerful ugly, and half crippled too.” Bran Stark was a cripple as well, and Sansa Stark loved him. Sansa Stark loved easily, a girl weeping over blue rose crowns and jonquils. Alyane is as hard as her name. Alyane wishes the men in her life weren’t so broken that she had to piece them together again. “Though he says he serves the Starks. There’s not much Starks anymore, though. Not since the Young Wolf lost his head.” Mya shakes her head. “Lady Catelyn visited the Eyrie with the Imp in tow, once. Shame your... father wasn’t here. He nearly lost his life for that woman. For the love of a girl, I guess.” Alyane gathers her skirts and curls up beside Mya, combing through her hair with her fingers.  
“I know.” She wishes he had died. “Lady Stark has always occupied his memory... even now.” She wondered if Sandor would die for her. “Enough of war, Mya. Tell me about Myranda.” The other girl sighs, and puts her head on Alyane’s shoulder. “Gods be good, I’ll love the girl till I die.” I know the feeling, Alyane thinks.  
*  
“Sansa,” She had forgotten how ugly he was. “Sansa Stark is dead, Ser.” He doesn’t snarl anymore, he has lost his bite. “I’m only Alyane Stone.”  
Something in his changes, like his heart is broken open. Sansa Stark cries. Alyane keeps still, smiles a smile of little sharp teeth. He bows and grasps her hips, and Alyane places her hands on his head, strokes his matted hair. “Would you kill for me, Sandor?” He shudders. “I would, and Gods be good, girl, I have.” Alyane smiles. “Would you die for me?” He stands, grabbing her by the hips, and for a second the world is lit with green fire. “Aye. But I’d never lie to you.” The world burns. He kisses her.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for this, and sorry for every single run-on sentence in this.


End file.
